
The Ruthless Heir's Five Million Bride
I dragged a bleeding man out of a flooded alley to get the five million dollars he promised me.
He woke up with severe amnesia, so I hid him in my cramped apartment, desperate to secure the cash for my seven-year-old son's life-saving asthma medication.
But while washing his ruined, custom-tailored suit, I found a heavy gold signet ring hidden inside the seam. It was deeply engraved with a vicious falcon gripping a broadsword.
My blood instantly ran cold.
Ten years ago, the ruthless Wall Street billionaire who dismantled my father's company and drove my parents to suicide wore that exact ring.
I had just saved the monster who destroyed my family, and now he was sleeping in my bed, right down the hall from my little boy.
I stood in the kitchen, gripping a heavy butcher knife until my knuckles turned white. He was completely helpless in the next room, burning with a severe infection.
I could drive the blade into his chest right now and finally end this ten-year nightmare.
But then I looked at the astronomical pharmacy bills and the eviction notices pinned to the fridge. Vengeance wouldn't buy my son's next breath.
"I am not interested in you, I am only interested in your money."
I put the knife down, grabbed the medical supplies, and walked into the bedroom to nurse my sworn enemy back to health.
Revenge could wait, but until I got my five million, the devil was mine to keep.
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Chapter 3
Donat shifted his weight, attempting to swing his legs over the edge of the mattress.
A sharp intake of breath hissed through his teeth as the torn muscles in his abdomen stretched.
He looked down at his legs. His custom-tailored trousers were ruined, stiff with dried mud and his own coagulated blood. His upper lip curled in profound disgust.
"Get me clean clothes," he ordered, not even looking at Elsie.
Elsie's jaw tightened. She rolled her eyes, marched over to the small, rickety closet, and yanked open the bottom drawer.
She pulled out a pair of faded, gray Walmart sweatpants that belonged to her ex-husband. They were pilling at the thighs. She tossed them onto the bed.
Donat stared at the gray fabric. He reached out, pinching the waistband between two fingers as if holding a dead rat.
"I am not wearing this garbage," he said flatly. "Go buy silk."
Elsie crossed her arms over her chest. "You're a fugitive bleeding on my mattress. You don't get to demand silk."
Donat glared at her. He dropped the sweatpants and reached for his leather belt.
His fingers were pale, trembling slightly from the blood loss. He fumbled with the heavy silver buckle. The metal pin slipped, jamming tightly into the leather notch.
He yanked at it. It didn't budge.
"Fuck," he muttered, frustration radiating from his rigid shoulders.
He looked up. His dark eyes pinned Elsie to the spot. He gave a sharp tilt of his head, a silent, arrogant command for her to approach.
Elsie's face flooded with heat. She took a step back. "I am not taking your pants off."
Donat's lips curved into a wicked, mocking smirk. "Are you a puritan, or just terrified of what you might see?"
The insult hit its mark. Elsie's temper flared, burning away her embarrassment. She stomped over to the bed, leaning over his lap.
She grabbed the cold metal buckle with both hands. She yanked hard.
Because of the angle, her face was hovering directly over his exposed stomach. Her warm breath puffed rhythmically against his bare, taut skin.
Donat's abdominal muscles violently contracted. His Adam's apple bobbed. The air between them suddenly felt thick, heavy with an electric tension.
Elsie's knuckles accidentally brushed against the warm skin just below his navel.
A jolt of electricity shot up her arm. She flinched.
With a loud click, the buckle finally gave way.
Elsie let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She grabbed the waistband of his ruined trousers and gave a hard, downward yank, pulling them down to his knees.
Donat watched the bright red flush spreading down her neck. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest.
Elsie snatched her hands back, humiliated. She spun around to walk away.
Her heel came down hard on the slick, severed piece of plastic zip tie she had left on the floor.
Her foot shot out from under her.
Elsie twisted her torso violently to catch her balance. A blinding spike of pain erupted in her lower back-an old injury from carrying heavy trays.
She cried out, her legs giving out completely. She fell backward, straight toward the bed.
Donat's arms shot out on pure reflex.
He caught her.
Elsie crashed heavily against him. Her face buried directly into the hard, warm expanse of his bare chest. Her hands instinctively clamped down on his broad shoulders.
They were pressed together seamlessly. His bare thighs bracketed her hips.
Donat ignored the burning pain in his gut. He lowered his head, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"Lonely single mother?" he whispered, his voice thick with amusement. "Couldn't wait?"
Elsie's entire body burned with mortification. She planted her hands on his chest, ready to shove herself off and scream at him.
The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed in the small apartment.
The front door unlocked.
Mrs. Brenda pushed the door open, balancing a steaming glass dish in her hands. "Elsie, honey, I brought you some-"
Brenda stopped dead in the doorway.
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as she stared at the bed. Elsie straddling a half-naked, incredibly built man whose pants were around his knees.
Brenda's mouth fell open.
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7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.

7.2
In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled.
Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault.
For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice.
"Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get."
She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me.
In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed.
My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end.
As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was.
I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs.
I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell.
This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.

9.6
Haylie waited nervously at the Wall Street charity gala for her boyfriend Bryan, but a spiked drink hit her hard, leaving her stumbling into a VIP lounge.
There, Chester Steele, the ruthless CEO of Steele Industrial, found her—drugged and vulnerable. What started as a frantic claiming in the shadows ended with him whispering she was his.
But moments later, a security alert shattered everything: data breach traced to Haylie's terminal. Chester's fury exploded. He saw her brush past a Logan Group rival on footage and dumped her in the rain, firing her as a corporate spy.
Bryan answered her desperate call with ice: "It's over." Reporters swarmed her door, branding her a traitor. Arrested at the office by FBI agents, she watched smug coworker Erin wave goodbye.
Thrown in a cell, chained and grilled with fake evidence—offshore accounts in her name—Haylie learned the worst: charges now included her sick father, Ernest, framed for laundering the leak money. Plead guilty or he dies in prison.
Innocent and raging, she couldn't fathom who planted it all—the gala bump, the logs, the forgeries. Why her? Who hated her enough to destroy her life?
Chester burst in, posting unlimited bail but forcing her signature on a slave contract: live in his penthouse, serve him 24/7. As she collapsed in his arms, trapped in his gilded cage, Haylie vowed silently—she'd uncover the real traitor and make them pay.

7.4
Alaya woke up in the sterile hospital room to a devastating reality: her six-month-old baby was gone, lost in a horrific car crash.
But as the memories crashed into her, she realized she had been reborn. She was back three years before her ultimate death, back to the moment she remembered lying bleeding on the asphalt while her husband, Hardy, shielded his mistress from the freezing rain.
When Hardy finally showed up at the ward, he coldly dismissed the crash as a mere accident and immediately left to comfort his young lover. To make matters worse, Alaya secretly checked her medical files and found a terrifying detail: someone had intentionally slipped beta-blockers into her system, a lethal drug for her transplanted heart. And Hardy didn't care about her dead baby or her irreversible infertility. He only coldly confirmed with the doctor that her heart was still viable.
A horrifying suspicion made Alaya's blood run cold. Why was her husband so obsessed with protecting her transplanted heart while treating her like garbage? And why was his perfectly healthy mistress secretly racking up massive bills at an advanced cardiac hospital?
Realizing she was nothing but a vessel in a twisted, deadly game, Alaya didn't shed another tear.
She packed her belongings, left her flawless diamond wedding ring on the cold marble table, and vanished from their penthouse.
When Hardy finally tracked her down, she threw a thick stack of documents onto the table.
"Sign the divorce papers," she said, her eyes completely dead.

8.5
I was rushed to the emergency room with a bleeding head after a horrific car crash.
But while the doctor was stitching my forehead, I heard the nurses whispering.
"The CEO of the Finley Group is upstairs right now, playing nurse to that pregnant actress."
My heart stopped. I ripped out my IV and dragged my battered body to the VIP suite, only to watch my billionaire husband tenderly wipe away his mistress's tears.
I filed for divorce that night and left his penthouse with nothing but a basic suitcase.
Carter was furious. He tracked me down, completely ignoring my injuries, and mocked me relentlessly.
"You're nothing but a breeding tool. You won't survive a week without my money."
When I later collapsed from severe stomach cramps, he abandoned me on the floor because his mistress faked a panic attack over the phone. He even nearly ran me over in the freezing rain as he sped back to her side.
I had loved him in secret for ten agonizing years, pouring my bleeding heart into a novel about my unrequited love. I couldn't understand how a man could be so incredibly cold-blooded to his own wife.
But Carter didn't know I was the anonymous author of that global bestselling book.
So when he tried to use his massive wealth to buy the film rights and give his mistress the lead role, I walked straight into his boardroom, slammed my contractual veto on the table, and finally fought back.

7.6
For three years, I played the perfect, docile wife to Brendon Jimenez, desperate for the real family I never had as an orphan.
But during a high-society gala, I peeked through a cracked door and caught him sleeping with my best friend.
When I packed my cheap canvas bag to leave the penthouse, my mother-in-law blocked the door.
She dumped my clothes on the marble floor, called me a stray dog, and slapped me so hard my mouth bled.
Brendon just stood there, watching his mother humiliate me.
To keep me trapped as his perfect public prop, he even faked his mother's heart attack in a VIP hospital suite.
"Get on your knees. Kneel down right now and beg my mother for forgiveness until she decides to accept it."
I gave them my youth and unconditional loyalty, only to realize this prestigious old-money family was nothing but a rotting corpse built on dirty secrets.
I didn't cry, and I certainly didn't drop to my knees.
Instead, I pulled out my phone right in front of him and called my lawyer.
"File for an at-fault divorce. I have proof of his infidelity with Kaelynn Hudson. I want him ruined."
Then, I touched the matte black card hidden deep in my clutch.
It belonged to Kile Barrett, the ruthless billionaire shark my husband feared most, and I was going to use him to tear the Jimenez family apart.